


Pep Talking a Mirror

by Xnami8



Series: O. [1]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Musical, Stress, fears, inner voices, no names, plays, voices in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xnami8/pseuds/Xnami8
Summary: This was written back in mid March after two weeks of practice and three days of performance for my high school's Musical Review. This is stress being put into words. Also, I do not act but I am Stage Crew Chief ( I'd also like to thank one of the actors who mentioned something to get this work started (i dont think he'll see this))~X





	Pep Talking a Mirror

All he had to do was give himself a pep talk.

All he had to do was give himself a pep talk. Something that should be simple and quick. Something that should’ve lasted less than five minutes- or that’s the time frame he gave himself. Five minutes to tell himself some false hopes and be on his way. Five minutes to shove some form of ‘everything’s going to go well’ into his head. He gave himself five minutes for a short cheesy speech then he would leave.

But here he was, facing the mirror in his bathroom, almost an hour later.

He had his hands in his hair, just grabbing it. His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to slow his breathing. Except that he couldn’t- he wasn’t able to focus. His mind was running from thought to thought- too fast for him to comprehend.

_I have to remember not to give myself pep talks- they always end up like this._

He breathed in, gripping his hair a bit tighter.

_You keep doubting yourself._

_You should have left already._

_Your already late, might as well not go. It’s not like they’ll need you anyways. You just get in the way._

“I- I just get in the way,” He repeated, untightening his eyes, but keeping them closed. His hands, faltered, getting loose of his hair. He let them for a few minutes, while breathing out.

Then he jerked, his hand back at his hair and this time he as tugging. He brought himself closer to the mirror- opening his eyes. His eyes were a bit glassy and red. His hair sticking in all sorts of directions- from being ran through and yanked.

Crying was going to make everything worse, if he did. His thoughts would torment him about it. He knew it. Yet he was being tormented for anything that he did. For crying, his performing, texting a friend, trying to help someone or being polite to a stranger. He couldn’t do anything to make himself happy- to stay happy for long. Sure his passion for performance made him happy but only for how long the show was or he did it correctly. Then it was a downfall; he would let his thought go, saying that it was bad, terrible, should quit this profession. Just to give it up, that he always gets in the way.

_People are probably worrying where you are._

_They don’t care where you are- they can do the show without you._

“I’m one of the leading roles…” He trailed off quietly, letting his eyes roam to the sink, “And- and I don’t have an understudy. I should be there.”

He looked back up the mirror, eyeing himself. His hands gripped the counter, trying to shove away the thought of pulling his hair. He knew it would hurt.

But maybe he deserved to be hurt.

He jerked again, his head moving to the side before returning to its original position. His eyes went back down to the marble counter top. The cream and grey weren’t much for a distraction. As if he could distraction himself away from his thoughts. They were always with him, and constantly new ones were being thought of.  And when he was able to distract himself it wasn’t for long.

_Text them, they’ll wanna know what’s going on._

_Don’t- don’t text or call, you’ll only bother them more._

He closed his eyes again, trying to regain something to make them stop. This time he shivered, letting out a cough.

_Oh, and now you’re sick so you can’t go- can’t perform._

_It was just a cough._

“Just a cough- nothing more,” He murmured. He leaned against the marble, setting his elbows on it. Getting closer to the mirror- to his reflection.

“It should be simple- just shoot them a text something came up tonight or you’re sick. Your already an hour late, going now would get nothing done. It’d be useless.” He spoke, clasping his hands together and looking at them.

“You’re just a useless human with no talent. You try to be kind to everyone and no one gives it back to you. You try to be polite and no one thanks you. Your trying too hard.” Tears fell from his face as he looked at himself.

“No- no one l-likes you,” His voice cracked.

His blue eyes looked back at him, seeing tears run down his face. His face a bit red from repeatedly running his hands across it. He sniffled as more tears ran down his face; his thoughts taking this chance to attack him. To tear him down, to make him guilty for his crying. He lured forward, unable to hold back another sob. The tears came down faster as he clenched his teeth- wanting to ground himself, to get control of this situation.

He couldn’t.

His body trembled again, letting out another disgusting cry. He was now looking down at his hands which were holding the edge of the counter top. The knuckles were turning white from how tight he was gripping. Yet his vision was blurring- making his head spin. He went to grab at his head, falling backwards as he did so.

He landed on the closed bathroom door, his body slumped against the wood.

“Ouch,” Was mumbled as he brought his hand up to wipe at his eyes. He was about to say some other snarky remark when another thought came to mind.

_What would happen if you were to punch the mirror?_

His other thoughts hadn’t stopped him when his hand reached the mirror, feeling the cool surface. A faint smile appeared on his face; his hand continuing to touch the mirror. His fingers trailed over to where his face was in the mirror- noting his red face and eyes- the messy hair.

At the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t know what he was doing. Wasn’t registering what his body was doing. He wasn’t aware that his hand curled into a fist. The fist being brought back towards his head. Then swinging full force forwards.

He did hear the crack of the mirror breaking. Then opening his eyes, not remembering that he shut them.

_And now… some of your fingers are damaged. Good going._

“You made me,” He mumbled, now holding his hand. He mumbled a few curse words as he rummaged through one of the drawers for a first aid kit.

He found it rather quickly. Opening it and grabbing out the tweezers. He carefully pulled out pieces of glass from his hand, being cautious not to make it worse. After that he grabbed the gauze- also being careful as he wrapped his knuckles. Then putting the kit back to where it was.

After that he looked at himself in the mirror again. Noting the messy hair, the raw face, his blue eyes looking nervous and alarmed, his hand that was now bandaged with a bit of blood pooling through. He looked wrecked, damaged, like he had gone through something terrible. Maybe he did, with listening to the voices in his head too much- too often. Or maybe not often enough.

He turned away from the mirror, turning around and grabbing the handle of the door that led back to his bedroom. He wanted to forget what happened here, to go back to musical practice. Maybe explain what happened in a lie, maybe not. So, he turned the cold metal, opening the door. With his other hand he turned off the lights to the bathroom, hoping that he could forget that he punched a mirror when he was supposed to be giving himself a pep talk about practice. Something that should’ve lasted less than five minutes but turned out to be more than an hour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
>  
> 
> ~X


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